was never these place /
battle plan, furious neutrality /
planting weeds in neighbouring territory /
steering discussions into /
full stockpile collisions /
trafficking multi-syllables /
across landscaped lines /
leaving a lunch bag of /
combustible hints /
in the quiet room, a maw /
wide enough to cover an averaged day
bellow up from the transit platform /
was there really potential in 100 year old grass? /
perhaps poetry does boil societies to a bone /
not just poetry recognized by those of class /
strikes, cadence, clacks draining out over decades /
to be recognized would be insanity delivered by courier /
the collapse would begin by singing that song
language is all that is left untorched /
not only kick /
but open the unspeakable /
perhaps a wheel of fire /
in the sleeping sky /
as a new night lite
all effort becomes a long list written over different leafs /
resist lists, they only count down to death conveniently /
ideal for actuaries assigned to the case and those dividing /
eternity into tasks and strikethroughs that revolutions ignore /
measure universes with shovelfuls, disturbing dirt tucked neatly like a bed /
swing the shovel through the air until it whistles and breaks the bone shop window /
there is a continuous rhythm in the coloured shards blinking in the mid year sun
should gauze fail to hold /
lick said wound with kool-aid tongue /
memory is an organ /
rattling in the messenger bag /
wiped down each morning /
with scented wipes, lemon and thyme /
my fingers are numb /
from ringing the end’s bell /
let closing night be an overload /
of circuitry and rainbow sparks /
not a threadbare shroud /
thinning under uncommented pressure /
or should the sun’s controlled explosion fail first /
let that lead the service
we should concede that we are separate /
though we share air, the mouth’d breath that returns /
are hieroglyphs without a common stone /
those footprints in front of the yard are a myth /
so many vessels reclining into the current /
bobbing far from the rough catches of the shores /
arriving at a great pool, stirring finally in the swirl /
broken glass in a river is never seen, only felt /
sample moon that is the moon /
waiting in the wings /
most of each day /
summoned by a sincere mislead /
to anchor the scene /
with a marquee name for audience pull /
into an ill-lit audition
what next, words? /
feeble switches bowing under mattered girth /
a neck lasts longer /
durable isthmus enduring the crash of both currents /
assumed capital to the north /
engine of flailing to the south /
and a hazardous third, to serve the abstract term written
the man with the limp is ground into light /
and reflection by passing trains /
do we die less in the 21st century? /
polished sofas and waiting rooms injecting perfume by proximity alert /
what everyone knows is seen /
portioned out across a wall of vapor /
backlit, flash-timed by blip and whist of clacks /
driving interest through development forecasts /
set back and gather warmth from the friction of exchange /
noting quickly that eyes dim daily
no cars today /
they died in the early frost /
shells weakened and collapsed under /
the weight of ice spectacles/
blooming in the fresh winter dark